Stir Crazy Blog Post!!!

(You can tell it's cray by the excessive use of exclamation points.)

Hey guys! It's Halloween and day 3 of life indoors post Sandy. Surprisingly, Jewboo and I have been getting along swimmingly--besides that small spat where I called him a dick for not letting me hang my wet delicates* on his wooden suit stand. I think it's because neither of us have had to spend our days sitting at a desk doing something that we don't like. We have way more patience for each other--and ample time to sleep. I don't even want to tell you how many times the question "Did you take half an Ambien?" has been uttered in our household.
BALLS! This blog post just reminded me to take my birth control and antidepressants! Dammit, Sandy--with all the days morphing into one long gray Tuesday, I can't keep up with anything. Lord knows if I go too long without my dolls, I'll become a whirling dervish and these two cats and Jewboo won't stand a chance.

Speaking of my dolls--just found out I have nearly $2,000 in doctor bills to pay! Of course, the natural response to this is "Don't you have insurance, Blacktress?" and the answer is, unfortunately, yes! And yet somehow, the MRI and in-depth eye exam I needed to make sure my brain wasn't cancerous is actually going to run me a month's salary. If this ain't some bullshit, y'all, I don't know what is. I firmly adhere to the position that if the medical tests don't find anything wrong, you shouldn't have to pay for it. (I bet Mitt Romney's rolling over in his grave.^)

I'm not about to pull a tacky Mitt Romney and try to make the hurricane about me. My debt is nothing in the scheme of things--the fact that I've had internet and electricity and my home is in one piece, has me praising Jesus more often than a Southern woman born before 1955.  I only even mention my bills bills bills because I just opened my mail and was thrown for a loop. What do you think I should do? Remember: the season for turning tricks has just passed, so there goes that option.

On an up-note: there's no sign of power in the area surrounding my office (including our building), so I've got an unexpected 5-day weekend. Perhaps I can finally get that screenplay done and sell it for millions??? Or maybe I can  figure out how to monetize the ridiculously cute cat photos I've been taking over the last four days?

Guys, the cat is in the hamper. I'm sorry, but you'd have to have no soul to not be moved by this. Look at his big ol' eyes! I can see why White people want to adopt third-world orphans--those eyes burrow into your soul.

In summation: The only hurricane I care to be bothered with is one played by Denzel Washington. I hope you've made your donation to the red cross! If you're not sure where to direct your efforts, here's a link! 
 



*not a euphemism

^ Because the real Mitt Romney died in a forest fire 27 years ago and the cyborg put in his place is relentless in his bid for presidency, which will usher in phase one of the Robot War.

Weighed Down

Before I get into my Marie Osmond-esque testimonial, let me say this: I know that it's common to gain a few lbs after you settle into a romantic relationship. Trading vodka-sodas for pad thai dinners, and no longer worried about whether you'll ever have sex again, one can get a little doughy. And when you eat to feel nothing, like I do, it's a recipe for a fat-saster.* I've had weight issues for as long as I can remember, and enrolling in an Upper East Side private school where your daily calorie intake shouldn't exceed the grade on your final exam didn't help matters.
Here are a few quick facts that'll make my relationship with food a bit clearer:

• At the age of 9, while inhaling food at my grandmother's house and being told to slow down, my response was, "I'm a growing boy!" which was meant to be a joke--plus, I'd never heard "she's a growing girl" when a young female wanted seconds.
• My first week of college I was terrified to have to eat meals with my hallmates because I hadn't eaten in front of boys in years.
• My mother regularly went on 3- to 5-day crash diets and I would try to do them with her and could only last 5 minutes. I hated myself for my lack of willpower.

So, as you can imagine, when Jewboo admitted to noticing my recent weight gain, I went into a bit of a shame spiral. After all, the only thing that's made coitus acceptable is remembering that he thinks I'm thin. Now that neither of us are in a fantasy world, there's no going back!


I know this is kind of a random post. But what prompted it was this NY Times OpEd.**  That, and the fact that when I was in the D a couple weeks ago, my cousin and I reminisced about how, when I was 10, I would cry when they teased me for having "a white-girl booty" (you know, flat). I wanted curves in the right places, as the OpEd discusses. That was right before I started my new school and fell into a different cultural stereotyping.


Now I want the happy medium. You know, something like

Teehee--I can't help the puns!




But it's all looking up! I finally got one of them 'smart phones' the kids have been on about, and I'm trading in the fun apps (like fried ravioli) for some good-for-you apps, like "Noom," which helps you stop being a chubzo. Yay for taking positive actions!


How are you? What's the haps? Any tips on how to keep the weight in my boobs but make sure it leaves my thighs?


* (a fat disaster, obvs).
** I mean, other than the fact that the writer's "go-to meals" sound depressing, there's a lot there that I agree with.

I Found More Than Just Containers....

I want to design my own t-shirt. I wouldn't sell it and no one besides myself would want it because it would say:

I just got back from 

and all I got was this AMAZING NEW BEST FRIEND. 

And underneath would be a picture of me and Ellen, the sales associate who made me feel like a better person.

This is what happens when I try to sneak out briefly during work to get a set of drawers.

Ever since the blog stopped being a safe space, I've been unable to tell my personal truths in the cathartic way that this blog once offered. I can, however, talk about how I'm feeling, since that doesn't sully anyone's good name and feelings aren't facts. 

In short: I'm having a hard time. 

See, I'm not very good at "organizing," "making efficient use of my time," or "being a functioning member of society." Whenever I manage to get anything together it's usually because I've been guilted or shamed into behaving in a socially acceptable manner.* Which, of course, means that I'm having trouble living in close quarters with a man and two cats—all of whom I love—that remind me every day that I'm just taking up too much space. 

I know that I need to get rid of the half-full Ikea bags full of clothing that I've hidden in the closet—I mean, it's because of them that I've worn the same 6 outfits for the last 3 weeks! And I can't complain about Jewboo's unpacked boxes when I'm using a stack of three of them as a desk for my laptop. As RuPaul used to say: If you can't love [living with yourself], how in the hell are you gonna love [living with your Jewboo]??? 

She also said, "Don't fuck it up," which I should also take to heart.

With that in mind, I started looking through shelving options on the Container Store's website. I was immediately overwhelmed (do you know there are containers for holding your double-A batteries???) and finally decided to just walk the 50 feet from my office to the actual store. 

Actually, what I said to myself was "THIS. ENDS. NOW." before I grabbed my credit card and keys (they won't know I've really left if my purse stays!)

[Yes, I like to think of myself as Bruce Willis in everything ever.]

When I got there, it was all too much. For a store that was all about containing, I felt it was overflowing with stuff that was just out of control! I was about to walk out when I spotted a smiley sales associate with a hip haircut and very subtle blue-grey eyeshadow.

"I need help!" I said, much like a lost child at a county fair. (I've found this is the best way to get a stranger's attention and immediate sympathy.)

"What are you looking for?" Smiley Lady said, much like a kindergarten teacher addressing someone who she knows has just peed his pants. 

"I need shelving because I just moved in with my boyfriend and my shit's a hot mess and if I don't get it together we're over, and I was on the website and saw this shelving unit that I want and I was at my desk and decided, 'THIS ENDS TONIGHT' but I can't find it."

Her name was Ellen. She was very patient and had no problem with TMI, which means we're meant to be BFF. 

Elllen got married last year and she and her husband have been living in a studio apartment—and they're making their love work!!

"How, Ellen? HOW?" I asked as we stood by the mesh Elfa drawers sold exclusively at The Container Store.

Ellen explained that she's pretty chill and just says exactly what she's thinking.

"Yeah," I said. "I don't see you as one to fly off the handle." I just got her, you know?

 Unfortunately the item I saw online actually looked like it was based on the novel PUSH  by Sapphire, and I was back to square one, but Ellen helped me figure it out before I had a Mariah Meltdown.

As I left without a drawer unit for my clothes, but with a jazzy clothes hamper, I felt hopeful. I'm ordering some drawers to pick up in store, which is both high-tech and less stressful. I'm probably going to pick them up on Saturday, which is the next day that Ellen's working.

Yes, she told me of her own volition. We're going to start going on coffee dates at Bed Bath & Beyond's cafe and I'll probably get her to "Like" my Facebook fan page. #BFFnotonNBC

*We all know that if I had my way I'd be the star of next season's new show "Biggest Hoarders Loser Intervention," where obese men and women are made to lose weight by kicking their drug addiction and cleaning their health-code-violating compounds.

Four Times a Blacktress....A List

Hey gang!

God, I feel like I haven’t blogged in forevs. There’s so much to share; I don’t even know where to begin. Let’s just go with the highlights:

1. Brooke Shields is my new BFF!
Fer reals. Saturday morning, I was meeting up with some friends at noon, and was a bit early. To kill time, I went to the nearby Dean & Deluca for an iced tea. As I approach the door, a tall woman and a shorter bald man (her main gay?) beat me to the door and head in. I catch a glimpse of the woman’s face, and instantly I recognize her. Holy shit, it’s Brooke Shields! I walk in behind them and order my iced tea with lemon slices, trying not to stare.
Okay, Blacktress, be cool. Don’t be creepy; celebrities like living in New York because we don’t stare. But I can’t just not act like Brooke Shields isn’t two feet from me, asking about the soup of the day.
Brooke’s asking the guy what’s up with the soups, and I’m thinking, Brooke, it’s 95 degrees. Why on earth do you want soup? She’s such a goose.
The waiter offers to let her taste the soups and it turns out one of them in a succotash.
The moment was now.
“What’s a succotash? Is it like a gumbo?” I asked.
Brooke looked at me, square in the eye, like I was a real human. She tilts her cup down toward me to show me the very unattractive combination.
“Oh, it’s creamy.”
“Yeah, but it’s got bacon in it,” she says, making a face.
“Guh.”
After tossing the taster in the trash, she comes back over and whispers, “You know, the pizza place next door has lemons. They’ll give you a slice if you ask.”
I laughed. "Good call," I said, as if we were besties.
Brooke, I can't just roll up to a pizza place asking for a slice of lemon. It’s not like it’s a lemon factory! And even if it was, I don’t think they’d just be giving away the product. It was so cute, the way Brooke thought I could do something that she can do.
Me: Can I have a couple slices of lemon, please?
Pizza Guy: What?
Me: Slices of lemon….for my tea?
Pizza Guy: We don’t have that.
Me: Brooke Shields said I could get a slice of lemon here.
Pizza Guy: What? No, no, we don’t have that here.
Me: Are you trying to make a liar out of Brooke Shields?
[I am then forcibly ejected from the establishment.]

Brooke looks just as good in person, y'all. She's a glamazon.

2. Whoopi Goldberg hates people / The View is just like Kindergarten


I haven’t had a blog post up sooner because Monday I wasn’t at work (we all know that’s where the good writing gets done). My mom ordered tickets for The View, like, two years ago, and they came in the mail last week. She was going to toss them when I stopped her--When else would I get to see Whoopi, Joy, and Sherri IRL? Thanks to the magic of facebook, the third ticket went to a precious Greek gay man that I met at a commercial audition a couple months back. After waiting in line for three hours, we got into the theater and ended up in the front row (turned out to be right behind the camera, though--sadface!). During the commercial breaks, we were allowed to ask questions (and eat the Keebler cookies and juice given to us before filming.) My mother raised her hand instantly.
“I have a question for Whoopi and Joy,” she said. “My daughter and her friend are young comedians trying to break out, and I wondered what advice you would have for them.”
“What kind of comedy?” Sherrie asked.

“Stand-up,” I said.
“You just gotta keep getting up,” Joy said. “I would do six sets a night. I’d go from Laugh Factory to Improv to next one and the next. That’s how you get good.”
Whoopi, on the other hand, did not. Look. Up. The. Entire. Time.
Apparently, she’s slightly Aspberger-y. When someone asked about relationships, Whoopi went on a tangent about how she never wants to live with someone ever again. “I’ll love you to death, make love to you on top of the Empire State Building,” she said, “but you can’t live with me.” The audience laughed, but Whoopi wasn’t joking. It’s amazing how someone who has won a Grammy, a Tony, an Emmy, and an Oscar could dislike crowds so much.
(There goes my plan to make her my mentor. Kathy Griffin, it’s on you!)

Joy Behar, however, is now my new favorite cast member. She was so chill and normal. I did, however, fall into a fear-spiral thinking of her advice. I did a show at 10:30pm Sunday and I was knocked out for the next day, not to mention six sets a night. What about showing up for work and actually doing stuff? What about getting your laundry from the washer to the dryer? Who has that kind of time?! Or, better yet—who doesn’t have that kind of time and actually makes it in the comedy biznass?

3. We have a new summer intern. He is 15, has swoopy bangs, and recently got his braces off. He was out of the office for about a week (homey gets more vacay time than I do!), and just came back in today--with his girlfriend. Apparently, he was seeing her in LA and his dad told him he had to come home, so he brought her with him. She has curly black hair and is cute as a button. I have been calling them “Gomez and Bieber” all day long.
Yes, I put the GF to work.

4. New TMI from the Massa.

During a 1on1 meeting with my boss this morning, I asked him who posed for a painting he’d done, which was now on his desk. This innocuous query leads to a 5-minute monologue about this young guy who was “obsessed” with him. “I mean, it happens, I’ve come to accept it. I’m a good-looking guy, I seem like I have my shit together; I get it,” he says. “Then it got all messed up. He told people that I fucked him. He was telling everyone I fucked him—and I didn’t.”

[I needed him to stop saying “I fucked him” but he wouldn’t.]

Remembrance of Things Past

OMG, guys. I’m really happy now. I got an email from my gyno!!!

Yes, guys, an e-mail! An e-mail is good because it means your test results came back negative. I remind myself of this with a little rhyme: If you didn’t fail, you get an email; If your phone rings, it doesn’t bring good things!

You know you’ve lived a little too hard if you’re really amped over STD test results. I’m not mathemagician, but I’d venture to say that one’s excitement over negative STD tests is directly proportional to one’s past sluttery. And, as many of you long-time readers can attest, Sojourner has definitely taken advantage of her freedom—and the legalization of miscegenation. As a hypochondriac, I get tested very regularly (sometimes I go in for a prescription refill and come out with two vials of blood drawn, just for the fun of it!), and the idea of an un-wrapped P in my V actually terrifies me, so my past, while varied, is relatively tidy.

Still, there were those nights….those Grease-like summer nights, when the club was dark and the booze was strong, and you didn’t know if that guy was on the up-and-up, but you hoped the amount of alcohol in your blood was so high that it would kill any foreign antibodies that entered.

Am I right, guys?


Anyway, I figure I just bought another 18 months of calm, especially now that I’m Jewboo’ed up and behaving.

Speaking of sluttery, I’m thinking of doing a trashy Halloween costume this year. I’m not really one for costumes (as a blacktress, I perpetually wear a mask….oooohh, that’s deep), and the idea of spending a lot of money or investing several hours in crafting a costume for one night of wear just seems silly. Besides, all the costumes for women are a slutty version of something really generic—you know, like a slutty fireman, a slutty witch, or a slutty slut.

I think, in honor of the slutty idiocy that is Halloween, my costume will be A Girl With Low-Self Esteem.

Booty shorts and/or booty skirt, the tiniest top you can imagine, and the need for endless male attention all night long.

I may end up having flashbacks.

Or, if I want to seem slutty-yet-cool, I’m thinking I can dress up as a Freudian Slip.

You know, wear a slip with my glasses and a name tag that says “Hello My Name is FREUD.”

What say you?

They Should Call It 'ALL UP IN MY FACEbook'

Facebook is out of control.
Okay, I know, that’s not exactly the biggest truth-bomb I could drop on a Monday—I’m fatigued, bear with me.

But, seriously, it’s just too much. Since the inception of facebook, I’ve been careful who I friended. But now, like in the film INCEPTION, the world as I know it is topsy-turvy, and all bets are off. I’m using it to network in the comedy world, I’ve got people I was “friends” from when FB started in my college days, and I’ve got the randoms I met while living inside Caucasia. At first, it was kinda cute. You know, when I got a friend request from a former camper I tended to many summers ago. But just a couple days ago I got a request from someone who vaguely resembles the dude who stood next to me in line at a UCB show but whom I didn’t exchange words with. That’s just creepy.

I’d done a pretty good job of avoiding coworkers and family for quite a while, but in the last year I haven’t been able to help it (nothing makes for an awkward family reunion quite like explaining why you rejected your uncle’s friend request). Every time I think I’ve put the lid on it (i.e. updated my privacy settings), facebook blows the whole thing wide open, and everyone’s all up in my business. Or worse—I get TMI about them.

Of course, this leads to hours of procrastination looking at wedding and engagement photos. But it also means that the details of my tween cousins’ lives pop up on my screen almost every time I log on. And, quite frankly, it’s about as interesting as an episode of Hannah Montana. Take, for instance, cousin Danielle’s latest activity, which takes up my whole mini-feed:


Danielle Likes Its stupid when someone texts you first and they never reply after you text them back
Yes, yes it IS stupid.

Danielle Likes I wanna meet myself as someone else just to see what it feels like :D

What does that even mean???

And another stumper:
Danielle likes *looks at hot boy* *looks at best friend* Best friend-"I KNOW!" :)

I tell ya, the kids today. I just don’t get ‘em.

Danielle Likes No mom, you're mad because you're wrong, not because i am talking back….

Oh, and this one has to be my favorite:
Danielle likes Sometimes your knight in shining armor is just a retard in tin foil
Uh-oh, look at the tweens telling a little TRUTH!!!


Okay, so in summation – facebook’s annoying, teenagers annoying, and I can’t stop thinking about Inception.

OMG! I'm the Mayor of Swoon City!

(Note: This may be my most diary-like blog post yet)
Guys, today is a day of OMGs.
Well, just one really.

Friday, May 14, at 8:42pm, Jewboo said "I love you."
to me.
non-ironically.

OMG!

Clearly, I am questioning his judgment while also planning our wedding. This means we're getting married, right?

Guys, this is kind of a big deal. A man hasn’t said I love you to me since 2001.
(I don’t want to blame it all on 9/11, but we can’t really be sure.)

The way it happened was also so random. I’d go into details, but why don’t I just give you an excerpt from today’s gchat with JJSiii? (of course, I emailed 10 of my nearest and dearest/anyone who’s ever heard me cry about how I’ll die alone to let them know the good news)


JJSiii: OMG.
a la Usher
This is big news.
Dudes expressing feelings, it's not a common occurrence.
Me: I KNOW
JJSiii: PS: I love that you marked the exact time and date.
I want you to get married at 8:42PM on May 14th
Whatever year may be appropriate.
JJSiii: important question: did you say it back?
Me: YES
OF COURSE
JJSiii: well, obvs
Me: you know i've been biting my tongue for, like, three weeks
JJSiii: otherwise it'd be totally awkward
Me: totes
Let me give you a blow-by-blow
JJSiii: Please do!
Me: We got into a stupid fight Friday early evening—you know, cause I was being a crazy person.
We make up, and the plan is for him to come over.
So, he gets to my place.
he comes in
and barges into the kitchen, all angry and cute
takes off his coat
and puts down his bag
and he's standing there and takes a breath, and says, "look. i love you."
i feel kind of dizzy, like i'm in some surreal hyper-baric chamber and this is so insane
JJSiii: haha, you should rent out a giant billboard in times square
just you giving a thumbs up
Me: yep
JJSiii: with the caption "He said 'I Love You'"
ME: hahahah!
who's got two thumbs and a boyfriend that said "i love you"? THIS GIRL!
JJSiii: Yes. It'll be a video billboard
or just one of those scrolling ones
I can picture it in my head
Me: I can’t blog about it…can I?
JJSiii: FYI: There's totally a Degrassi episode about blogging and relationships colliding


Clearly, the conversation devolved into Degrassi-related madness, with a few links to wedding dresses.

Here’s hoping he doesn’t go reading the blog today, people!!!]

I know, I know, I'm such a tween--grown ass women do not act like this (right?). Where's my Justin Bieber poster?